


art of the game

by drippinggold



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Heist, M/M, Rich Boys, aka the fic where i just wanted to write one (1) particular scene, an unhealthy number of em dashes, but then i got too caught up in it, lol, so i wrote some more stuff, take a shot every time u read the word "fate", well...sort of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippinggold/pseuds/drippinggold
Summary: "Fate is a bundle of threads, spools of them intertwining, unwinding, pulling, and breaking. It’s easy to get lost in the lines, especially when they’re all so predictable. So when you find a loose end, it’s only natural that you hold onto it."In which Renjun tries to steal a painting. And Jaemin lets him.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	art of the game

**Author's Note:**

> um...

It’s a cold night, the sky somber in its darkness and the wind coming through the balcony chipper in its caress.

“You’re absolutely addicted, Renjun,” Chenle insists, his tone resounding and firm as he nurses a glass of his finest red wine.

Now, there is nothing that Renjun could have said to deny that because he also believes that he is.

_Addicted._

_Obsessed._

But then he thinks about it again and concludes that it couldn’t be _that_ dramatic. Because, for one, Renjun doesn’t consider this kind of...work merely an addiction nor an obsession. He’s not in a daze or under some spell, no. He’s simply driven, extremely motivated.

And it’s more like a _vocation_.

Yes.

Or a devotion.

An everlasting pilgrimage, if you will.

Renjun makes his sentiments known, voices out his thoughts around the expensive cheese he’s currently munching on. The wine is bitter and the cheese is salty. He reaches out to the platter and picks up a plump grape, juicy and sweet.

Chenle sighs once Renjun’s done talking.

“A vocation?” There's a contemplative tone in Chenle’s voice.

“Yes,” Renjun pauses, chewing. “Or an everlasting pilgrimage.”

“A pilgrimage...” Chenle trails off in wonder.

Renjun hums as he stirs his glass of wine with his finger. He raises it and watches the drops of burgundy trickle from the tip of his finger. Chenle does the same, following Renjun’s movements with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure about that?” He asks, uncertain yet calculating.

Renjun takes Chenle’s obvious judgement in stride, pretending to think about the question for a second even though he’s so sure of it he could write it in stone. “Yes.”

Chenles sighs while shaking his head, obviously giving up on his mission to understand Renjun. “Look, Renjun, maybe you should take a break.”

Renjun quirks a brow and smirks. “Aw, is little Chenle worried about me?” 

Chenle sways his half-full glass from side to side, the liquid sloshing almost tantalizingly. “Yes, yes I am. You’re taking on too many jobs lately, I’m scared you might lose your toㅡ”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Renjun’s voice sharpens to a point, glaring as he puts his glass down on the antique wooden table with a loud thud. The sound is jarring against the soft jazz music playing in the background.

Chenle doesn’t flinch and just puts his hands up in a weak gesture of surrender. “Okay, I won’t. Just. Please. Don’t damage the goods.”

Renjun shakes his head and huffs in amusement. He grins at Chenle who is pushing a silk coaster stitched with gold leaves onto it towards him. “It’s not like you can’t buy another table like this,” he rolls his eyes and laughs through his nose. “Or steal one.”

“I told you,” Chenle groans, clearly frustrated. “Unlike _you,_ I’m taking a very much needed hiatus from that life.”

Renjun hasn’t heard of that but then again, he hasn't been paying enough attention to the rumor mill lately. He considers what could have happened. “Don’t tell me your dad got itchy and decided to challenge himself again?”

“Bingo,” Chenle points a finger gun at him before picking a macadamia nut from the platter. “I swear, it’s like we can’t afford one.” He laughs like it’s the most hilarious thing in the world and Renjun laughs along because it is. Chenle’s an heir to a large conglomerate in Shanghai. His family owns dozens of multi-million dollar businesses all over China. They could have everything. Literally.

And yet the father is an infamous art thief and the son is his apprentice.

What a strange world they live in.

“What was it this time?”

“Crown jewels. Russian.”

Renjun whistles. “Nice.”

“There was a slight complication. An uncovered trace here and there. Dad had to temporarily cease all operations.”

“That’s harsh. But hey, what’s losing a few billions to the Zhong family?”

Chenle snorts. “Like a harmless poke, really.”

“Of course. Not even enough to cause a tiny dent on the family fortune, I presume.”

Chenle hums in agreement before saying, “You know, you could learn from him.”

“You know what? I could,” Renjun says in a dry tone, giving the Zhong family heir a blank look. “But unlike your handsy father, Chenle, I haven’t had any complications recently. You could even say I’m on a roll.”

“I know that,” Chenle snaps, his patience wearing thin. “But all good things come to an end, Renjun. You might climb too high; it'll take a massive landslide to pull you back down to earth. I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of the saying: the higher you climb, the harder you fall.”

Renjun wrinkles his nose at the distasteful proverb. “And here I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I _am_ happy for you. You’ve accomplished so much already. You’re an inspiration.”

“Thank you. I try.”

“But I also worry for you,” Chenle is so close to begging but he has to remind himself that if he does, it will just worsen the situation. Renjun is a strange mix; knowing how to handle him should be an art form. “I’m your friend, Renjun. I just want to look out for you. You have to take it slow before everything comes crashing down on you, no holds barred.”

The fire in the fireplace is crackling and it fills the momentary silence stretching between them. The lights are dim enough that the moonlight seeps through the glass wall, lending a whimsical glow to the room. And yet despite that, Chenle’s features are dark. The fire in his eyes mirror the intense fire in the fireplace and the knuckles around his wine glass are white like the moon.

Renjun’s world shifts, then and there. The room starts to look less perfect. There’s a slight smudgeㅡa tiny fingerprint the cleaners probably missedㅡon the glass wall. There’s a limp grape on the platter the cooks probably forgot to cull. Then, he looks down at his watch, the only thing on himself that wasn’t fresh and newly bought.

Renjun sighs in defeat, wrapping a hand around his deceased dad’s watch. “It’s just...I can’t help it, Lele.”

Chenle deflates, his eyes blinking slowly as if he can’t register that fact that his friend is finally back down from his high. “What do you mean?”

“The rush,” Renjun looks away, taking a small sip from his glass of wine.

“Ah,” Chenle understands. At least, he tries to. Like he always does.

“When I see something I want, I immediately find myself trying to get my hands on it. It’s nothing else but the rush, the thrill of the game, the satisfying payoff. And then I find myself unable to stop. Everything’s just so… electrifying.”

Chenle remains quiet for some time. He opens another bottle of wine and refills both of their glasses. He motions for his butler to add more cheese to the platter. “Damn,” he sucks his teeth. “You’ve got it bad.”

Renjun slumps down in the large imperial red couch and hangs his head. “I know.”

“Well, lucky for you, I know just how to help you.”

Renjun looks at Chenle, bemused. “What? How?”

“It’s quite simple really,” Chenle shrugs, calm and lax. Just like the rich heir that he is. “It’s just to give you the lull you need so you would slow down.”

Renjun stares at him. “Alright. Tell me.”

Chenle delays his response for dramatic effect, picking apart the cheese then placing it in his mouth in slow yet precise movements. “You just gotta pull the good ol’ classic one.”

Renjun blinks. Then laughs, the sound loud and mocking. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you sure you want to keep me out of jail and not put me in it?”

Chenle crosses his arms, slightly miffed. “First off, you’re not going to go to jail because I’m here. And second, that’s why I’ll be picking the most harmless target among the mansions here. And trust me, I know _everyone_ around here.”

Renjun’s not entirely convinced and just stares at him.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Chenle’s devilish grin is wide as he exchanges Renjun’s glass for a bottle of Vodka. "And besides, if you doㅡand that's a very big 'if' because I know you're a class A thiefㅡget caught, I'll just talk my way out of it for you. Just like I always do." 

Renjun considers his words and looks at the expensive bottle with a pensive look. He's mentally berating himself for actually considering going along with Chenle’s plans. 

But then Chenle tells him of the currently abandoned mansion just on the edge of the upscale neighborhood, tells him of the treasure trove hidden inside its dreary white marble walls; tells him of teeming galleries, of paintings and sculptures untouched, barely touched by the light of day.

Renjun’s hands twitch and his lips quirk up in interest. Art should be sung about in the dead of the night, should be celebrated at mountain tops and over winding hills. If Chenle’s so sure that the mansion is currently emptyㅡand so _full_ , at the same timeㅡ then who is Renjun to turn down such a tempting invitation?

⚜

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The drawl comes cool and piercing, an unexpected ripple in the still lake of the night.

Renjun freezes, his outstretched hand awkwardly suspended in mid-air. His heart is threatening to burst from his chest and cold sweat starts to form at his temples. He can’t believe it. He’s caught? But Chenle had been so sure the estate was emptyㅡ 

Renjun catches himself, chastising himself for being so affected, though he’s sure it’s just the lingering effects of the alcohol in his system. Maybe he shouldn’t have finished the entire bottle of wine. Maybe he shouldn’t have listened to Chenle at all in the first place. His mind is whirling, incessant thoughts and countless excuses flitting across his mind like cars on a freeway. This isn’t the time to panic. This is the _least_ perfect time to be unsure and distressed. He has to be smooth, calm and collected. 

Years and years of training and on hand experience settles into his body like second skin, turning him into a mask of everything he knows he will never be in actuality. He takes a shaky breath before turning around.

The man at the doorway is tall. He could only tell that much in the unlit room.

There’s a tense stretch of silence. It breaks when the man finally says, “Lights on.”

There’s a flash overhead and the room is suddenly doused in light.

Renjun could see the man clearer now. He finds that he’s right. The man is tall and dark-haired, ebony locks atop a slender frame. Renjun quickly registers the fine angles and smooth features of his face, the lines of his face coming together into a handsome visage. Undoubtedly so. He’s wearing a cream-colored satin robe, holding a bottle of whisky in one hand and a stout crystal glass in another.

The man moves closer and Renjun spots a flash of gold around his neck. Suddenly, it’s clear to Renjun that this man is the owner of this vacation home. Chenle had mentioned a name. He’d called this place the Na Mansion. Na had probably decided to visit at the very last minute which is why Chenle hadn’t known. The man in front of him is probably another heir to an expensive throne. Or already the king of one.

Renjun stays rooted to his spot, watching Na move swiftly towards the table near the couch. In the span of time it takes for Na to cross the room, he'd already calculated, through all the alcohol in his system, at least ten plans of action he could take to get out of this situation. And only one of those he's considering as the most possible: running to the balcony and jumping off into the night. 

Na sets down the whisky and the glass before languidly stretching himself over the couch with an air of indifference despite the scandal of a situation happening in front of him. He shoots Renjun a wide, attractive smirk. “I apologize. I didn’t know I had a visitor,” Na picks up his glass and tips it at Renjun. “I was only able to grab one glass.”

Renjun studies the man in silence. He switches his gears. There’s no way of escaping this situation now. He considers the pros and cons of engaging Na, his alcohol buzzed and anxiety-addled mind making it hard for him to put together coherent and logical thoughts. Maybe there's still space to negotiate. Diplomacy is well and alive in this current era. He might just make it. 

But as quickly as he thought of it, he dismisses it, thinking that there’d be no way of getting out of this damn situation and damn mansion scot-free. _Wow, Chenle, what a way to slow him down_ , he thinks bitterly.

In any case, he’s already caught. He’s in trouble. He knows this. He could get thrown in jail any minute now and judging by the affluent quality of the mansion and the illustrious yet mysterious air of the man before him, he might even get a bullet in his head the second he takes a step backward.

Gulping, he licks his lips.

The adrenaline is kicking and he feels his heart soar and his blood sing, a loud cacophony in his ears. Chenle didn’t understand and probably will never understand but it’s _this_ part that Renjun loves: the jarring and invigorating moment between predator and prey, freedom and incarceration, life and death. It builds up like a well inside him, threatening to spill.

“It’s quite alright. I did come uninvited, after all,” Renjun says in a light tone. Like they’re close friends meeting each other again after a long time of separation.

The man smirks even wider, his eyes twinkling in the fluorescent lighting. He picks up the bell that was already on the table and rings it. 

Renjun’s senses heighten at the sound of the bell, an alarm of some kind. Did he perhaps make the wrong move? His eyes flick to the open balcony door.

Na must’ve sensed his uneasiness because he says, “Relax.”

Renjun doesn’t want to believe him but his body does it anyway. He relaxes, betraying the red signals flashing in his head.

“Young master.”

An elderly man enters the room with practiced movements. The graying man is decked out in a swallowtail coat, his demeanor calm and collected. It’s Na’s butler. Renjun watches as the butler approaches Na, not even batting so much as an eyelash when his austere eyes pass over Renjun.

“Would you be so kind as to fetch another glass for our _distinguished_ guest?” Na motions to Renjun with a tilt of his head. “Oh. And bring in a charcuterie, please.”

“Of course, master Na.” 

Then the swallowtail coat swishes out the door.

“Don’t be shy. Take a seat,” Na gestures towards the empty armchair to his right. “Your appearance may be unexpected but believe me, it’s not unwelcome.”

Na's words wash over him like waves. Pulse racing and heart thudding, Renjun coolly raises an eyebrow, his legs taking him to the white satin armchair. “If you wanted a visit, I should've come sooner.”

The first domino falls. The exchange is a spontaneous tango, a game of cat and mouse hidden behind mock pleasantries and expertly veiled derision.

“I appreciate the thought but if you had, you would’ve come to an empty house,” Na uncaps the whisky and pours himself a finger. “I decided to visit this estate at the last minute. Good thing you got the memo.”

Na’s eyes are twinkling, the accusation is unspoken and yet it rings clear in Renjun’s head: _If I hadn’t been here, you surely would have gotten away with a painting._

Renjun smirks, settling down on the armchair and ignoring the rational side of his brain that’s telling him to hightail it out of this mansion. “Wouldn’t want to miss your return. A housewarming party crossed my mind but I figured you wouldn’t like one.” _If you hadn’t been here, I would have gotten away with more than just a painting. I would’ve gotten an entire team to come with me as well._

“Good call,” Na chuckles as he brings his glass to his lips. “I’m more inclined towards one-on-one meetings rather than group discussions.” _Bad call. Repercussions will be heavier on lone wolves._

A knock resounds around the room. The butler comes in, setting down another glass in front of Renjun before presenting a platter on the glass table. “Thank you. You may call it a day,” Na says to the butler. The butler bows one last time before leaving the room.

In a bout of boldness, Renjun moves first, stretching himself over the low glass table to grab the bottle of whisky. He pours himself a drink and quickly downs it in one go, aware of Na’s eyes following his every movement.

“It’s a wonderful painting, isn’t it?”

Renjun places the glass back down, feeling the burn down his throat. Careful to keep his exterior calm, he slowly turns.

Back when the room had been dark, Renjun wasn't able to get a clear view of the painting. He just knew it had to be of some great value, judging by its placement on the wall and the seeming importance of the room. But now he could see the painting clearly. It’s plain white, almost ghostly, like bones laid out to dry under the sun, with three red lines of varying thickness and shades slashed on it horizontally. It looks like blood on bone. 

“It’s a part of a _very_ private collection. An artistic experiment gone wrong, maybe. Or maybe even a move of deviancy, in my opinion,” Na explains. Renjun glances at him and sees Na staring at the painting like a lost boy in a circus— equal parts enthralled and frightened. 

“It’s called _The Threads of Fate_ ,” he whispers the name like a prayer, a reverence reserved only for the divine.

“It’s beautiful,” Renjun acknowledges, his voice the most genuine it's been the entire night.

Something in Na snaps and he quickly tears his gaze away from the painting to Renjun, his eyes fiery. “Do you believe in fate?”

Renjun is caught off-guard, expecting the flow of the conversation to go back to the verbal tip-toeing they were having before. He didn’t expect...whatever this is. But still. Renjun mulls over the question, giving it the mindful attention it probably doesn’t deserve. Is this some sort of test? If he says the wrong thing, will he end up in jail? 

Renjun feels tired all of a sudden, half resigned to his fate. He might as well have fun going down this sinking ship. He opens his mouth, ready to answer when suddenly, Na answers his own question. 

“I do,” Na goes back to staring at the painting, as if he were hypnotized. “I believe the world works in lines and threads, some of them on the verge of fraying, some ready to be snipped, and some on their way to connecting. Sometimes they would even part, momentarily, then reconnect just a few moments later. It’s oddly reminiscent of a game, a push and pull, a break and lock.”

Renjun pours himself a couple of fingers, suddenly looking forward to the burning sensation of the liquid as it travels down his throat. Anything to make this conversation feel less real. 

“Out of all the rooms in this estate, you just had to pick this room to plunder. Out of all the works of art in this room, you just had to pick my most beloved piece as your target. And out of all the days that I could’ve visited, it had to be today.”

Renjun’s mind is buzzing, the implication of Na’s words falling over him like sunlight on a rainy day. This is the first time Na had acknowledged the situation at hand.

“If that’s not fate then I don’t know what is.”

Na’s eyes are suddenly on him. In an instant, Renjun is held captive. Here he is, listening to a stranger talk about abstracts like destiny, building assumptions and producing conclusions out of a single coincidental meeting. And yet, despite the absurdity of the moment, the words stick to him like a plague, makes his heart heavy and his thoughts jumbled.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Renjun clears his throat, the sound feeling obtrusive in the delicate atmosphere of the room. “But what if I tell you I had planned this all out? That this wasn’t mere coincidence or by the workings of something so abstract like fate?”

Na hums, taking a slice of ham from the charcuterie.

“What if I tell you I had acquired a blueprint and map of your mansion, deliberately asked around the mill about your favorite painting and identified its location?”

None of what Renjun is saying really happened. He didn’t do all of those things.

“If what you’re saying is true,” Na starts with a tone that implies he isn’t very convinced about Renjun’s what-ifs. “Then it’s a good thing I can read paintings better than I can read people.”

Na offers him a truth for his lie. It’s disconcerting, breaks the balance that shouldn't have been present in the first place. Renjun had trespassed and had been promptly caught—he had played the game poorly and had lost. He may be a thief and a good liar but he knows how to give credit where and when credit is due. And maybe, Na is due some honesty from Renjun.

“I’m the opposite,” Renjun blurts. Na’s previous statement had stirred something in him. It’s a truth he had fought so long to keep buried because for as long as Renjun’s been around various works of art, he’s never developed a second consciousness for understanding them. He has a good eye, sure. He can identify an old master in a blink of an eye. He can pick apart famous paintings, down to every symbolic shade and deliberate brush stroke. But objective conclusions and subjective reflections are two different things, polar opposites with distinct lines. “I can read people better than I can read paintings,” he cuts a part of himself and presents it to his potential enemy.

If Na is surprised at Renjun’s show of honesty, he makes a good act of not showing it. “But they say pictures are worth a thousand words.”

“That only applies to those who can read them,” Renjun counters. “Show me a surrealist and I might as well be blind.”

Na hums again, his eyes pensive. “That’s interesting. An art _connoisseur_ that can’t perceive art in its purest form.” He said _connoisseur_ with a sarcastic lilt to his voice, letting Renjun know that he believes Renjun is anything but. And he’s absolutely right. But that doesn’t mean Na can poke fun at the vulnerability Renjun had shown.

“Well, I find it equally interesting that an _entrepreneur_ who can’t strip down a person to their barest state like you exists,” Renjun bites back, his hand closing tight around his glass. Two can play at that game.

“I meant you no offense,” Na widens his eyes in mock drama. “Though annoying you would seem like a natural thing to do considering you trespassed on my estate and attempted to steal one of my prized possessions.”

They’re veering into reality now, waking the elephant in the room. The moment threatens to crash down on them. It’s finally time for Renjun to face the music. Renjun lets out a deep exhale, slumping into his seat like a puppet severed from its strings. “Do what you will.”

Na thinks for a while, a hand stretching out to pick a grape from the platter Renjun hasn’t touched. The silence stretches for far too long, the moonlight filtering through the balcony curtains getting brighter. This had been a mistake but it did help Renjun get over his strange heist high. Guess he won’t be feeling the rush as often as he used to.

“Take it.”

_What?_

“What?” Renjun blinks, his hand faltering around the glass he’s holding, almost dropping it. He loses his composure, but Na holds his gaze brightly, like a tongue of fire, and immediately he regains it.

Na nods towards his favorite painting, his eyes never leaving Renjun’s. “Take it. It’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

The whole situation is inexplicable. Renjun struggles to make sense of it, to make sense of the man before him but he draws blanks after blanks. Na is interesting, he admits. But he might also be a bit unhinged. 

Na smirks. Renjun’s breath catches in his throat.

“I’ll even leave the room so it’ll seem like the perfect situation.”

Renjun’s still frozen. Na straightens and places his glass on the table and stands up. “Oh, and seeing as you’re already taking something of mine, you might as well take this piece of warning: fate will always find its way,” his eyes twinkle like the stars lost their way and made a home in them. “Well, then. Have a pleasant evening.” 

Renjun remains in his seat and he can do nothing as the master of the house shoots him one last look before exiting the room. When Na is out of sight, Renjun takes their conversation and dissects it in his head. 

Renjun spends most of his free time digging through science books, volumes of mathematics stacked against physics and chemistry. There’s also a sprinkling of biology and geology. And out of everything he’s stored in the shelves of his mind, he arrives at this conclusion: there’s no universe where such a situation like this would be acceptable, no room where he can factor this strange variable to form a comprehensible equation. And he also arrives at the realization that, maybe, it’s time he stops thinking logically about the world, stops seeing things in black and white and opens his eyes to the refreshing sight of grey.

 _Fate will always find its way_. Na had said this, his face partly shadowed like the moon. It’s unchartered territory and deep waters.

And it’s perfect, really.

Renjun would never turn down a quick shot of danger and adrenaline, a chance to go higher and an invitation to something new.

In the midst of the night, with a flash of moonlight and the lingering taste of whisky in his mouth, he swipes _The Threads of Fate_ and holds it close.

Renjun wakes up in Chenle’s villa estate the next morning, groggy and with a mild hangover. But it’s not as dizzying for him to miss the single, cream-colored card propped up on the table below _The Threads of Fate_.

Hair sticking up in weird angles, he pushes himself to sit up and squints at the somewhat offensive piece of paper. Renjun swears to god that the table had been void of any strange letters the night before. Curious, he stands up, fighting through the harsh pounding in his head and pads over to the small antique table.

Then his eyes land on his newly acquired painting on the wall. The painting hangs like a king in a castle and sits like a queen on a chessboard. Paint on canvas and canvas bordered by a gold frame, its presence is large, almost like a fire Renjun can’t douse. The white paint is like a beacon in the darkness and the three thick lines like an oasis in the desert—a gift. Of some sorts. Renjun had been trying to ignore it but he just couldn’t turn away, his eyes catching onto it every time he passed by.

Renjun had come home last night in a daze, never even bothering to tell Chenle about his little run-in with the mansion owner himself. Chenle had been ecstatic last night, convinced that Renjun was finally getting a grip of himself and had lent him his villa. And he would be right because he’s going to lie low until he’s wiped clean off of Na’s radar. Renjun might be dedicated but he’s not crazy. Besides, he can’t steal anything if he’s stuck rotting in jail.

But when he sees what’s written on the card, his plan of lying low crashes and burns. His stomach drops. 

**_Let the game begin._**

The words were written in a thick and cursive font. The handwriting doesn’t look like it could belong to Na. But the words spark something in Renjun.

“ _It’s oddly reminiscent of a_ game _, a push and pull, a break and lock_ . _”_

Na’s words last night ring in his ears, accompanied by the phantom burn of golden liquor and twinkling moonlight against drops of crystal.

The promise the card holds should unsettle Renjun, shake him until he’s down on his knees with labored breathing. But it doesn’t and instead, his heartbeat skips and runs, flapping wings taking advantage of a wild updraft.

_Bring it, Na._

⚜

And he does. Renjun finds out several nights later.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Renjun pays tribute to their first meeting, saying it with a drawl as cool and slow as the words had been delivered during that momentous night.

Na turns around from looking at the painting to face Renjun. The man smirks knowingly.

Immediately, Renjun rakes his eyes over Na’s figure, his eyes taking in his dark hair and his suit. His inner shirt is low-neck and almost see-through, showing off a good amount of chest and smooth skin. His neck is adorned with glittering gold and the lapels and edges of the sleeves of his suit are dotted with sparkling blue, red, and white crystals. There are several silver rings wrapped around his fingers. Na’s outfit is loud and flamboyant. Renjun wonders how he got through security with such a conspicuous façade.

The real owner of the painting spreads his arms and hands in a confused gesture as he stares pointedly at the empty antique coffee table in the middle of the room. “What’s this? No whisky?”

“My apologies, Mr. Na,” Renjun says mockingly, hyper aware of the words he’s regurgitating. “I didn’t know I had a visitor.”

Na catches on, his eyes glimmering like the crystals sewn onto his immaculate suit. “It’s alright. I did come uninvited, after all.”

Renjun tries to stifle the grin about to blossom on his face but it breaks through and he has to turn away to hide it. He closes the door and walks over to sit on the divan beside the empty coffee table. He welcomes the rush this meeting is giving him, drinks it in like whisky.

“Don’t be shy. Take a seat,” Renjun gestures to the armchair in his vicinity. “Your appearance is unexpected but believe me when I say it’s definitely not unwelcome.” He’s aware he’s changing the script, laying it on a little thicker. But this is the part where the play should taper off, moving into the next act of this show they’re restaging. 

Na keeps his trademark smirk as he slinks over to the coffee table and all but side steps past the armchair to sit beside Renjun on the large divan. “That’s a relief,” Na exhales. “I thought you’d send security after me.”

Renjun crosses his arms. “Why would I do that to such a _distinguished_ guest such as yourself?”

“You’re right. It wouldn’t help your case at all if you hadn’t welcomed me the way I welcomed you during that fateful night.”

And there it is. Na’s fixation with fate and destiny. Renjun shrugs off his jacket and tries to fold it, eyes looking anywhere but at the man beside him. “And how is _fate_ treating you on this pleasant evening, Mr. Na?”

“Quite wonderfully, actually,” Na’s light tone is unexpected. Renjun finds warmth in it. “After all, it led me to you.”

Renjun scoffs. “So, is this the ‘game’ you were pertaining to? Theㅡ what was it again? ‘Push and pull, a break and lock’ that you were talking about?”

Na arches an eyebrow in amazement. “Well, I did tell you that fate will always find its way, Mr. Huang.”

The fact that Na knows his name doesn’t faze Renjun. Na being here despite the villa not even being under Renjun’s name is telling enough. 

“That you did, Mr. Na,” Renjun nods and boldy turns his body towards Na.

Na is staring at him openly, his eyes a flickering flame. It sparks something almost destructive in Renjun, foundations threatening to crack under the blistering gaze. And maybe it’s because of that that has Renjun leaping off the cliff and into the crashing waves as he whispers vulnerabilities in the dim light of his room. “What brings you here?”

Na is not one bit surprised at the unexpected question. But it makes him lean against the divan, his straight posture slightly wilting in front of a man he barely knows.

“You have my painting,” Na says, cocking his head to the side. “And maybe I want it back.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just feeling lonely?” Renjun blurts, pushes the honesty a little further.

Na takes it almost willingly, his posture relaxing like knobs finally oiled after a long time. “Maybe,” he murmurs quietly into the night. “Maybe I was feeling lonely. I could tango with paintings and have tea parties with sculptures all I want. But recently, I haven’t been finding them as entertaining and dynamic as I used to.”

Renjun snorts. “Did an impressionist bore you or something?”

“It was actually a cubist, but that’s not important.”

“Then pray, tell, Mr. Na. What important things have transpired on your end over the week?”

Na smirks, turning his body to face him. Now they’re facing each other, sitting cross-legged on the wide divan. Their knees are almost touching.

“Well, Mr. Huang. I’ve recently shifted my interests from the art themselves to the people who actually celebrate them. Take art _connoisseurs_ , for example.”

“I see,” Renjun says, his pulse picking up. “Well I, for one, have been doing the exact opposite. Being around too many people has gotten too tiring.”

Na smiles his first genuine smile. Renjun stares openly. “I’m glad my painting has been keeping you company.”

Renjun opens his mouth, a reply already on the tip of his tongue when Na interjects again.

“But I’d rather _I_ keep you company.”

Then Na shuffles closer until his knees rest on top of Renjun’s and his hands hover over Renjun’s thighs. Their faces are a few centimeters apart, their noses a hair's breadth away. “What say you, _Huang Renjun_?”

Much to Renjun’s chagrin, his heart flutters at the sound of his name. It rolls off like honey on Na’s tongue, coats the moments in sweetness and sugar. Renjun thinks he hasn’t heard his name quite like how Na just said it. Much like the way he said the painting’s title, it sounds like a prayer, a divinity uncovered, a supplication to the highest heavens. Renjun feels himself sink further into the depths. But before he could fully surrender himself to it, his eyes catch onto the painting that started it all.

And he remembers the cursive writing etched onto a letter: _let the game begin._ He smirks inwardly.

He extends his hand, takes in a deep breath, and gingerly brushes Na’s cheek with the pad of his fingers. Na’s eyes flutter close and he sighs. It’s barely audible but Renjun hears it just the same. His hand trails down Na’s angled jawline to rest on the side of his slender neck. Na’s skin is like fire under Renjun’s fingertips. The moment feels like a candle flame, small and intimate yet bright in the darkness. 

He slowly leans in, his heart hammering against his ribcage, the force of which leaves him almost breathless. His hand travels from Na’s neck to the back of his head, clutching at the strands. Renjun tugs and Na relents, his chin now slightly raised as Renjun leans closer to the column of his neck just below his ear.

“I would say this, _Na Jaemin,_ ” Renjun whispers against the warm skin, relishing in the way Na shivers slightly. “The game has only begun.”

Then he let’s go of Jaemin’s hair, leans away, and stands up all in one swift moment. He doesn’t look at Jaemin as he moves away from the divan. He wants to see Jaemin’s expression, wants to see the fire burning in those eyes once more but that’s not a part of his strategy. Jaemin had said: push and pull, break and lock. And Renjun intends to play this game well.

A pregnant silence invades the room, tense yet effervescent. Renjun walks over to the door.

“You can have your painting back. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Na.”

And he leaves the room. 

⚜

Chenle receives an invitation.

It’s the same crème stationary and the same cursive font.

“Turns out Na’s back. That’s weird. This is the first time he’s been home in years,” Chenle announces with a mildly surprised tone. Renjun gives a noncommittal grunt.

They’re in one of the gardens of Chenle’s estate. It’s a warm afternoon but Chenle had insisted on a mini tea party. Renjun would’ve stayed inside the cool air-conditioned manor but Chenle had mentioned the new batch of jasmine tea they were preparing to sell sometime this year. Renjun loves tea and loves being the recipient of rarities. It didn’t take long for him to accept the invite.

“What if he’s looking for the one who stole his painting?” Chenle asks, sipping on a cup of jasmine tea.

“I already returned it,” Renjun says, sipping on his own cup of tea.

Chenle visibly freezes, his hand still around the tea cup. “You what?”

“I returned the painting,” Renjun repeats slowly, calmly. He sets down his delicious cup of tea.

“But why? Why would you do that?” Chenle asks, his voice genuinely puzzled and slightly panicked.

Renjun shrugs casually. “The painting had a mind of its own.”

“So, like,” Chenle’s confusion is palpable. “Are you saying that you _personally_ returned it or did the painting just, I don’t know, magically disappear?”

Renjun contemplates whether he should tell Chenle the whole truth. But decides it wouldn’t be as fun if he does. “I snuck in again and returned the painting.”

“When? How? He arrived the day after you got it.”

Renjun has half a mind to tell Chenle to reconsider where he gets his information because they surely aren’t reliable. But then again, things wouldn’t be fun if Chenle knew everything.

“What can I say,” Renjun grins smugly, reclining in his seat. “I’m just that good of a thief.”

Chenle narrows his eyes at him, unconvinced. “I thought you’d take a break from all of this.”

“But I didn’t even _steal_ anything,” Renjun reasons. “In fact, I _returned_ something. So technically, I’m still taking a break.”

Chenle blinks. “Well, that’s true. Alright. Then, I guess, Na just felt like throwing some kind of welcoming party or something.”

“Yeah, I guess he just felt like it,” Renjun opens the invitation then sets down the letter opener. His eyebrows rise to his hairline. “It’s an invitation-only event.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chenle waves a hand at him dismissively. “I’ll make sure to contact Na and ask if I could bring a plus one.”

Renjun holds up two invitations, each with their names engraved on it with golden ink. “You don’t have to.”

Chenle’s mouth parts momentarily before shooting Renjun an inquisitive look. “Are you sure you didn’t get caught?”

Renjun doesn’t meet his eyes and just runs his thumb softly along his name engraved onto the expensive stationery. It’s another promise, another thread dying to reconnect.

“You know what?” Renjun stands up, pulling the sleeves of his sweater up. “Maybe I did.”

“What?” Chenle splutters, trying to grab onto Renjun’s arm to stop him from leaving the table. But it’s too late because Renjun’s already walking away to head back to his room.

“Hey Renjun! What do you mean by that? Renjun!”

It’s a masquerade party.

Typical. Na does seem to have the flair and dramatics for it, after all.

Renjun’s walking up the mansion’s steps with Chenle by his side. He sweeps his eyes over the masked people trickling into the large hall. They’re all wearing glittering suits and dresses, the cuts and styles so ostentatious they nearly overshadow the paintings set up around the hall. Their masks are extravagant and flashy, the perfect cherry on top of their fancy outfits.

“I thought this was a party, not an art exhibit,” Chenle says, the bottom half of his face uncovered by his velvet red colombina mask.

“Maybe it’s both,” Renjun supplies.

“It’s a grand display of wealth and power, I tell you. But well, I can hardly criticize him for doing it,” Chenle smirks, grabbing a flute of champagne from a waiter passing by. “Ohh, look at those old masters. I want me some of those.”

The chatter in the hall is loud despite the sparse groups of people, their voices bouncing off the panels holding valuable paintings. Renjun feels like he’s in an art gallery. But under grand affectations, fake guises, and the seduction of bright chandeliers and faceless strangers. With the glamour and the glitz surrounding himㅡfrom the lavish masks to the glimmering costumes ㅡit’s immensely exhilarating. Renjun feels the heat of the lights against his skin, warm like the sun, and feels the almost static energy buzzing within the crowd.

Renjun scans the crowd of masked faces and art works, his eyes searching for one and only one thing. Then, his gaze settles on a particular canvas to the far corner of the hall. The area surrounding the painting is as well-lit as the others. Surprisingly, it’s not as crowded. Renjun smiles.

“I wonder where Na is,” Chenle thinks out loud, eyeing a particular piece to their left.

“It’s a masquerade party, Chenle,” Renjun sighs, grabbing a flute of champagne for himself. “If this is Na’s deliberate doing, then this whole charade could only be nothing but a game.”

Chenle turns to him sharply and arches a brow. “Since when were you an expert on Na and how his mind works?”

“Since he told me I could steal his painting.”

This is the second time Renjun’s left Chenle sputtering and confused as he walks away from the young heir. But Renjun couldn’t care less, not when he can practically hear the painting calling his name, not when he’s sure he’s the only one in the room who can identify the lone man standing in front of said painting.

The hall isn’t full, the chatter is scattered and disjointed to the ears but Renjun doesn’t hear all that. He hears the beating of his heart, heavy and piercing like a hammer on nails and hears his breathing like the sound of the ocean from a shell pressed to the ear. His eyes are glued to the man in the velvet white suit. It’s embroidered with shining crystals, rays reflecting off of it from the wide chandelier above them.

He pauses just beside the man, bringing his glass to his lips and averting his gaze from the man to the painting before him.

It’s been nearly a week since he’s last laid his eyes on the artwork but like all pieces of art, it doesn’t look like it’s aged since. Well, that’s to be expected.

But as Renjun studies the ghastly white background and the contrasting red against brushstrokes, he feels like an intransigent witness to the shifting times. Standing before the masterpiece feels like a reunion with an estranged family member, feels like opening a time capsule he’s written to his future self.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Renjun glances sideways at the man in the silver suit, taking in the glittering front of his suit and the white low-cut inner vest. He flicks his eyes up to the man’s golden _Colombina_ mask.

“Just a penny?” Renjun quirks an eyebrow even though he’s aware it won’t be seen because of his mask.

The man turns to him fully. Renjun’s eyes fall immediately to the bare expanse of his collarbone and upper chest. The crystals clinging onto his suit sparkle like there’s no tomorrow. Renjun brings his eyes back to the man’s only to find himself staring into warm, dark chocolate brown eyes. Renjun’s heart skips a beat.

“Would you tell me if I give you a painting?”

“Depends on which one you’ll be offering.”

The man smirks before taking a leisurely look around the room, pretending to consider all the options available to him. He turns back to Renjun, smirk wide and eyes sparkling. “I’m pretty sure I know which one you want.”

“Do you, now?” Renjun says, hiding his own grin by taking a sip from his glass of champagne.

The man chuckles and before Renjun could relish in the warm baritones of his laugh, the man quiets down. His eyes flicker to the space behind Renjun’s left shoulder. He tips his head, slightly raising his champagne towards Renjun. “Have a wonderful evening.”

Renjun nods back, his eyes following the figure as he begins to roam around the hall.

“Honestly, you’ve got to stop being so damn mysterious,” Chenle approaches from Renjun’s left. “Did something really happen with you and Na? And if so, how did it go? I mean, you got to see Na before I did so I may just be a teensy bit jealous. Like, hell, I even forgot what he looked like. We used to hang around, you know? Back when we were kids. I’m sure his hair is black but I’m not sure about his eyes—”

“Brown,” Renjun blurts, his eyes still stuck on the man clad in the white suit as he studies another painting from across the room. “They’re a warm brown. Like dark chocolate.”

Chenle blinks at his answer, his mouth still open. He closes it and narrows his eyes at Renjun suspiciously. “Are you sure you were the only one who stole something that night? Cause I’m pretty sure he also somehow stole something else—”

“Shut up, Chenle,” Renjun leans closer to Chenle and hisses at him, his cheeks slightly flushed at his friend’s implication. Then he sends a furtive glance around the room. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave early.”

“What?” Chenle says teasingly, huffing. “The company boring you, Huang?”

“Yeah. He is, actually,” Renjun deadpans.

“That hurts.”

“Good.”

Renjun takes a while in the bathroom, making sure to soak his sore muscles well in the warm water of the Jacuzzi. The masquerade party had tired him out even though he barely interacted with the masked guests. He almost fell asleep while he was soaking but he got himself out before his skin could turn wrinkly like a raisin. He puts on his silk pajamas, comfortable and expensive then opens the bathroom door.

Maybe it’s the lingering effects of his time in the warm Jacuzzi because when he sets his eyes upon the lone figure sitting on his divan, he blushes. Renjun’s not usually flustered by spontaneous meetings, his brain geared to quickly adapt to any situation however unexpected they may be. But when he sees that Na Jaemin had taken off his white crystal encrusted suit, leaving him in that tight and revealing inner vest, Renjun’s heartbeat races and his mind empties. Renjun’s eyes are drawn to the way Jaemin’s inner vest stretches tight over his torso but leaves spaces in just the right, perfect places. Renjun rakes his eyes appreciatively over his slightly tanned skin, catching onto the corded muscles in his biceps and forearms. 

“Like what you see?”

Renjun’s cheeks are still flushed as he drags his gaze up to meet Jaemin’s. Then, it’s nothing but fireㅡvivacious and blazing. It’s always fire with Jaemin and Renjun welcomes the burn.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Renjun says coolly, shrugging as he raises his towel up to dry his hair. He moves across the room like Jaemin isn’t beautifully poised on the divan in the middle of the room, moves as if he doesn’t feel the pair of eyes drinking him in. 

“Feisty,” Jaemin comments from across the room. Renjun doesn’t reply and continues drying his hair, maintaining an air of indifference. 

“Heard you went to some party?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You left early. Was it too dull for you?”

Renjun raises his head and studies Jaemin’s face, trying to figure out what kind of answer he wants. Renjun had admitted earlier that he can read people better than paintings, can pick them apart better than he can recognize symbolisms and metaphors. But Na Jaemin seems like a different entity altogether. He’s shifting, a mood going with the seasons; there are times Renjun could perfectly read him and then there are times when he keeps drawing blanks. Jaemin’s a strange mixㅡan art form he’s not sure he can learn. 

“Kind of,” Renjun says after a few beats. “I didn’t get the chance to meet the host.”

The corners of Jaemin’s lips lift in a smile. “Oh? That’s unfortunate.”

“It is. I thought I might meet him and thank him for inviting me to such a wonderful party.”

“I’ll make sure to pass the message,” Jaemin says, inclines his head and leans back against the divan. Renjun’s eyes flicker down to the shifting garment on his torso for a brief moment. “Though it seems like he has one for you first.”

Jaemin reaches beside him and Renjun belatedly takes in the painting. He’d been too focused on Jaemin that he’d ignored the conspicuous painting leaning against the legs of the divan. Renjun drops his towel onto an armchair and slowly approaches Jaemin, eyes never leaving the painting. 

“He said something about exchanging a painting for yourㅡ oh, what was it againㅡ” Jaemin’s eyes widen and he snaps his fingers, his silver rings glinting in the light “ㅡah, yes! A painting for your thoughts.”

Renjun stops in front of Jaemin, suddenly feeling too warm in the cool night. He feels his cheeks warm and he licks his lips, his heart pounding to an imaginary thunderous beat. Jaemin smiles at him widely, knowingly, before presenting the painting to him. Renjun stares down at _The Threads of Fate_ , feeling winded and grounded at the same time. He stares at Jaemin, searching, and realizes with a startling moment of clarityㅡJaemin’s giving this to him, no strings attached. There would be no more exchanges made in the middle of the night, no more deals made with whisky on their tongues and moonlight against walls. Renjun doesn’t know what to do.

“So...” Jaemin places the painting on the coffee table and stands up, his vest stretching taut against his torso, the diamonds shimmering.

Renjun stares at him, not knowing what kind of face he’s making. He hopes Jaemin could read his thoughts, prays that he answers the silent request he’s offering. And maybe, thankfully, Jaemin’s gotten better at reading people because his eyes go dark, a churning flame, as he stands in front of Renjun. His eyes are searching and contemplating. Renjun holds it, counts the beats and seconds. 

Then, he feels a hand wrap around his wrist. Renjun stretches his fingers, testing. The hand leaves. Jaemin’s still looking at him, and he’s so close, Renjun could see his long eyelashes and the gold dust covering his cheeks and forehead. It’s mesmerizing and he’s lost in the moment. But he startles when a hand cups the back of his neck. Jaemin’s pulling him in close until they’re chest to chest and cheek to cheek. Renjun can feel Jaemin breathing, can feel his heartbeat racing in time with his own.

“What do you say, Huang Renjun? A painting for your thoughts?” Jaemin whispers. 

Renjun feels it like a soft, intimate caress. He shivers but remains silent, searching for the words he wants to say. The silence must’ve gone on for too long, must’ve stretched too far because he feels Jaemin pulling away all of a sudden, his thumb rubbing against the back of his neck one last time. But before Jaemin’s hand could leave his skin, Renjun reaches up with both hands and places them on Jaemin’s shoulders, holding him in place. Jaemin visibly perks up, his eyes suddenly a raging inferno. The moment is electric, the air around them blazing. And Renjun plans to fuel it more, tilts his head up just a fraction of an inch so his lips just lightly graze Jaemin’s jawline.

“I would say this,” Renjun kisses warm skin. “ I didn’t quite believe in fate but maybe I do now.” 

He’s whispering, afraid that if he speaks too loudly, the moment will shatter into a thousand pieces and scatter around them in inconsolable fragments. The hand at the back of Renjun’s neck stutters. “Fate may always find its way but I also know thisㅡ” 

He shifts himself, faces Jaemin directly. He locks onto the warm chocolate pools, his lips directly hovering over Jaemin’s. It would take a simple push or a simple pull for them to meet. Jaemin breaks eye contact and drops his gaze to Renjun lips. Renjun smirks and continues, says with absolute certainty, “ㅡfate makes no mistakes."

Then he takes the final plunge and kisses Jaemin. Immediately, Jaemin’s fingers travel from his neck to bury themselves in his hair. Renjun gives an appreciative hum when Jaemin tugs. He circles his arm around Renjun’s waist and Renjun feels the warmth through the thin fabric of his pajamas. He shivers unconsciously and links his hands behind Jaemin’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. 

It’s hot and Renjun feels like he’s doused in a raging inferno. Jaemin’s touches are warm and searing against the cool air. Renjun’s never kissed anyone like this, has never approached such intimacy with fevered passion. He nips at Jaemin’s bottom lip impatiently, a whine at the back of his throat. He feels Jaemin smile against his lips before, _finally_ , he prods his tongue at the seam of Renjun’s lips. Electricity fizzing at the bottom of his spine, Renjun opens up immediately, welcoming Jaemin into the heat of his mouth. Teeth against teeth, tongue against tongueㅡJaemin explores his mouth as Renjun does the same. 

Renjun feels alive, his blood is singing. It’s a familiar feeling, similar to when he’s about to get what he wants, about to get his hands on something he desires. Renjun wants and what he wants he gets. It doesn’t take a genius to know Jaemin is the same. This is a chance. Or better yet, this is an open door, a free walk.

And yet, a part of Renjun is still unsatisfied. It’s a buzzing in his ear, an itch that wants to be scratched. If Jaemin wanted this, he wouldn't have given the painting. There would've been some ultimatum, a silent promise of a challenge. But this...this is something different altogether. Renjun thinks of the paintingㅡ _The Threads of Fate_ ㅡand acquiesces that yes, perhaps, by the workings of fate, he's destined to meet Jaemin. But Na adds something different to Renjun's calculations, something he's too hesitant to name.

The night is silent, the only sound in the room the gasping of their breaths and the slick, wet sounds of their lip lock session. Maybe Renjun has learned to read paintings better than he can read people. 

Renjun pulls away momentarily, his breathing ragged and heavy. He looks up at Jaemin with hooded eyes, taking in his kiss swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and mussed hair. He’s breathing just as deeply, his chest rising and falling. 

“Why?”

Jaemin’s winded, his breathing coming out ragged and his voice hoarse. “You have to be more specific than that, Huang.”

“Why are you giving me the painting?” 

“I thought you could read people better than you can read paintings.”

“You gave me the painting,” Renjun snaps, hands clutching at Jaemin’s lapels tightening. “It means something. That much is obvious. But youㅡI can’t read you at all. So, answer me,” Renjun brings Jaemin in closer, staring him square in the eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

Under the veil of the night, it comes out a whisper. But with their proximity, it hardly matters. Renjun knows Jaemin heard it like he could hear the beating of his heart. And it picks up speed, threatens to burst through his chest when Jaemin’s eyes darken.

“A connection,” Jaemin says simply and matter-of-factly, as if it should be enough to tell Renjun why he’s doing such an inexplicable thing.

“You have to be more specific than that, Na,” Renjun bites back. 

Jaemin’s eyes narrow but instead of making Renjun feel anxious, it just sends a trail of fire down his spine. Jaemin tilts his head and smirks. “Don’t you remember, Huang? Fate is a bundle of threads, spools of them intertwining, unwinding, pulling, and breaking. It’s easy to get lost in the lines, especially when they’re all so predictable. So when you find a loose end, it’s only natural that you hold onto it. ”

Renjun stares at him, mulling over his words. He’s turning them over, grasping at the seams. He licks his lips. “What... are you trying to say?”

Jaemin lets out a small smile before chuckling lowly. 

A small part of Renjun understandsㅡhe knows what Jaemin is trying to say, can feel an image of it gathering from Jaemin’s words. But a huge part of Renjun is all denial and nothing but. None of that can happen, surely. Feelings are as inexplicable to Renjun as much as paintings are. Unwittingly, Renjun stares into Jaemin’s brown eyes. It’s still bright and blazing, but the darkness in them betrays its depths. Perhaps it’s the lighting, the passion clouding Renjun’s senses. Or perhaps it’s something else…

And in that moment of realization, Renjun lets it go, knowing that he’ll never be brave enough to explore that. Not for now, at least. 

So he shakes his head and puts a finger to Jaemin’s lips and effectively cutting off any incriminating declaration Jaemin might spout. Jaemin’s eyes go cross-eyed as he stares at the offending finger. “N-nevermind that. Forget what I just said.”

Jaemin’s silent for a second. Then, he nods and unabashedly takes Renjun’s finger into his mouth. Renjun’s breath hitches. The inside of Jaemin’s mouth is warm and wet and Renjun feels the heat coming back, feels it curling at the bottom of his stomach. And right there and then, all of Renjun’s worries and inhibitions go up in flames.

Jaemin’s staring at Renjun, his eyes heavy-lidded, dark and dazed. He’s swirling his tongue around Renjun’s pointer finger, biting at it, and sucking on it. It’s making Renjun want to give in, makes him want to end it all and allow Jaemin to do whatever. 

Renjun’s eyes stray to the painting lying forlornly on the divan. Then, he grins. 

It wouldn’t be fun if they all get what they want so soon, so quickly. 

Renjun’s schedules are empty, bereft from any rush or adrenaline. These past few weeks, however, had been enough to fill the void. And now, he has the painting. There would be no need for any more games and chasing. He needs to do something, to keep the ball rolling and the fates guessing. This game he’s been playing with Na had been… stimulating. Rousing. Exhilarating. The sight of Jaemin is enough to make him drunk, enough to incite highs. His senses always seem to be alert, his mood reaching all time highs in the presence of the man currently sucking his finger. Now thisㅡRenjun is no stranger to this feeling. This is something he can accept, something he can surrender himself to. And surrender he will. 

So, he regains his composure and, careful not to hurt Jaemin, hooks his finger to the inside of Jaemin’s cheek and gently pulls him closer, walking slowly backwards to the direction of the door. Jaemin obediently follows, his eyes darkening at the movement. Renjun can tell he’s aroused at such a display. Renjun smirks and pulls him closer until their noses and foreheads are touching. Renjun places a soft kiss to the top of Jaemin’s cheeks, then leaves a trail of kisses until he reaches his lips. Renjun ignores the part of his brain telling him to abort the plan and just let the night lead them on. 

He travels down and kisses his jaw, gives a teasing lick, then nips a line from his jawline to the juncture between his shoulder and neck. Jaemin whines, the vibrations traveling from Renjun’s finger to the part between his legs. He’s still walking backwards, pulling Jaemin into a slow dance. When his back hits the door, he stops and with shaky resolve, pulls his finger out of Jaemin’s mouth. It comes out with a pop, a string of saliva connecting it to Jaemin’s wet, kiss-swollen lips. 

Jaemin’s eyes are hazy and unfocused, but they start to clear when Renjun pulls away. “What are youㅡ” he starts, but before he could finish, Renjun’s already opening the door and pushing him outside. 

Renjun knows the moment is suddenly broken, lost in fleeting time. But he also knows it could be recreated, knows the moment is not entirely lost forever. 

A thread they should be able to reconnect. 

“I apologize, Mr. Na, but I must really go and sleep. Beauty rest and all thatㅡ”

Jaemin snaps to life, holding onto the door frame to keep himself on the doorway so he’s still within Renjun’s space. He’s breathing heavily, his body language betraying signs of ire and exasperation. “But you don’t even need that! You’re already beauㅡ”

“I appreciate the painting and hope to see you soon!” Renjun smiles and begins closing the door.

“Wait!” A hand stops the door from closing entirely as Jaemin gapes like a fish out of water for a few moments. Then, he narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

Renjun blinks at him innocently and tilts his head questioningly. “Yes?” 

“What are you playing at?” Jaemin’s still flushed, the pink beautiful against his sun-kissed skin. Renjun absentmindedly licks his lips. Jaemin catches it and stares at his lips pointedly. “You said ‘fate makes no mistakes’. You can’t renege on that.”

“I’m not reneging on anything,” Renjun’s chirps, excited for a brief moment before he lowers his voice and stares at Jaemin with half-lidded eyes. “You said you enjoy gamesㅡ the push and pull, the break and lock. I’m just giving you more of what you want, Na Jaemin.”

Jaemin’s look turns pensive. “You can’t do this to me again, Huang. This isn’t the same as it was last time. You know that.” 

Renjun could practically see the gears turning in his head, could practically _hear_ him thinking. Na’s on the verge of breaking. All the more fun. “Of course, I know. Which is why this _won’t_ be like the last time. That is, if you just play by the game,” Renjun shoots him one last smile. 

Then he places his hand on Jaemin’s chest. Jaemin stares at him, the fire in his eyes thrumming back to life. Renjun’s eyes are twinkling in the dim lights and he shoots Jaemin one last smirk before pushing him into the hall.

“Ball’s in your court, Na.”

Then, he closes the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> ta-dah! lol
> 
> you can find me on twitter! :') [@renminisces](https://twitter.com/renminisces)


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